THE CRANKY OLD MAN
Random thoughts and stuff from a cranky old man. Humor (maybe)and satire, mostly stuff from a confused head.
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Tuesday, February 5, 2013

The Tunnel Competition of 1966

The Tunnel Competition

Finding a
summer job during my college years was not easy.I was fortunate that my best friend Charlie (Chuck,
Ditmus) Widmer had a contact.His cousin
owned a fertilizer/pest-control company, “Andrew Wilson.” Their motto was “Why
Bugs Leave Home.”They sold their
product mainly to large estates and golf courses.His cousin was expanding into the underground
sprinkler business and Chuck got me a job as an installer.

Charlie’s
cousin, Drew (we referred to him as Mr. Big) knew almost nothing about the
business, but lack of knowledge never stopped Mr. Big.He was the kind of a guy who would tell people he
could do something and then learn how while doing it.

One of the
other “installers,” Paul, was the son of a friend of Mr. Big.Paul was as dumb as a stump, and just as
lazy.Mr. Big thought he was great.Paul was a good looking kid.He once got a modeling job for a shaving
cream company.His big claim to fame is
he made the back cover of Time Magazine in an ad.Somehow Mr. Big thought this made him smart.

Paul was so
stupid; he once went to the Doctor complaining of constant pain in his
balls.The doctor determined that Paul,
who had been engaged for over a year, was often demonstrating his affection for
his fiancé but never to completion due to his religious beliefs.The doctor told Paul that he needed to “Find
some release, or he would continue to be in pain.”Paul told us he didn’t know what the doctor
meant.

Charlie
explained it gently to Paul, “You need to do what you are.”

“Huh…wah…what?”

“Jerk off...
jerkoff!”

In the summer of 1966, business was
slow. Mr. Big did not have enough sprinkler jobs to support his full
crew.One of us would have to be laid
off.It was not going to be
Charlie.Charlie knew the situation,
Paul and I did not.

The toughest
job in the installation process was getting pipe under a driveway or walk. On the day of the "competition," Mr. Big assigned Paul and me to tunnel
under a ten foot wide driveway, a bitch of a job. Charlie and Mr. Big left together for another
job site. Before they left, Chuck
whispered ominously in my ear, “Dig mother-fucker!”

Now Paul was
not that bright, and he was lazy, but I might not have been the most productive
worker myself.Hell, we were paid $1.35
an hour for a back-breaking job so we did not always work full bore.This day, I put the pedal to the metal.I didn’t know the full score, but Charlie’s
comment was clearly a warning.Putting
two and two together I suspected this tunnel dig represented a competition.

Paul and I
started digging, both on opposite sides of the driveway.It was a ninety degree day and there was no
shade.

“Hey Hagy,
you up for a water break, no one to see.”

“Ah, you go
ahead, I’ll catch a break later.”

“Hey Hagy,
slow down, this driveway ain’t goin nowhere.”

“Yeah, well
I need the exercise, you take a break, I won’t say nothing.”

This went on
for three hours, Paul taking water breaks, stopping to wipe his brow and just
resting and talking.I continued to plod
away taking only an occasional short break.

At noon, Mr.
Big and Charlie drove up and checked on our progress.I had dug six
feet on my side of the driveway; Paul had dug three and a half feet.Charlie got out of the truck and Mr. Big told
Paul to come with him.

“Nice
fucking job Hinkus (I don’t know where that name came from), you won.”

“Yeah!…what
was that?”

“Mr. Big has
to let someone go.He decided whichever
of you two dug the furthest would keep his job.Paul lost!”

We never saw
dumb Paul again.

Back in
college, anytime I had to cram overnight for an exam, the phrase “Dig
mother-fucker” was the mantra that got me through.

I worked with a guy like Paul. He was the nicest man I ever met. He looked like he came from old money, and had a name that said so, too. He was a local model in department store ads on the back pages of the St. Louis Post Dispatch. But he was not exactly MENSA material. There he was, probably with a trust fund held until he turned 50, handsome in a graying temples kind of way, making the same $1,500 a month as I was.

That may not be a very "delicate" mantra, but it sure tells it like it is. Unfortunately, there are two schools of thought in the workplace. Yours believes in putting in the sweat equity to get the job done. The other side believes in skating, and kissing the boss's derriere.

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About Me

I am 70 years old, I have 4 children 45,42,40 and 18;and 5 grandchildren 13-6
. Divorced twice, married three times. I worked on Wall Street for 40 years after graduating from Lafayette College in 1968. I have turned to writing as since retirement I needed something to tell people "What the F*** I do." Published one book "Maybe It's Just Me!" available at Amazon, soon to release my second, "I Used To Be Stupid."
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